


World Without End

by oncealiceswann



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Arthur is a young punk, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Student Arthur, Teacher-Student Relationship, impatient Alfred with horrible kids, teacher Alfred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncealiceswann/pseuds/oncealiceswann
Summary: In a lonely town lived Alfred, a world-weary maths teacher, and his student Arthur, a young punk. They don't care.





	1. Out of the Blue, into the Black

**Author's Note:**

> Feeling the absurdness of life before exams, hence this story. Ratings may go up.

Alfred sat in darkness. It was a bright day outside, but sunlight never reached his room. Curtains were drawn to cover the windows completely; the door was always locked, even in the middle of the day. The house was quite spacious, but all the furniture was drawn into a small corner,and Alfred was quite satisfied living there he didn’t care about the rest of the space. Bubbles in his cocktail had long vanished: after all, he had been holding it in his hand for the whole afternoon. Sunday afternoon. It’s Sunday, he told himself, everything’s okay.  
He sighed, but silently, and turned in his bed. It’s probably four or five in the afternoon, his weekend was soon to end. Monday will soon be there, and he would be dragged out of that small corner into the light. But, he reassured himself, there are still a few hours left for himself, and they are completely his own. No sharing with students or some nasty neighbours——in fact, a nasty neighbour. He doesn’t have a lot of neighbours here, where everyone lived in a big mansion with a huge garden. One living in New York or London could hardly imagine what it is like to live in places like here: you can hardly see people moving around in the day; even if they do, you don’t see them as the sight of the street, or to be more precise, road, is blocked by your garden wall. But people here probably don’t move around a lot, as only hermits like Alfred could bear living here alone.  
Alfred’s latest memory of the city was about three weeks ago, which was much more recent than any of his neighbours’. Three weeks ago he moved here, and started to shut himself in this dark room with only alcohol and food until he found a job, quite surprisingly. He hesitated, for he wasn’t sure whether he wanted one; but having more money to spend was an attractive idea.  
“Okay,” he said, “I could bear being a maths teacher, as long as the kids don’t annoy me and shut up as I tell them to.”  
“I’m sure they will,” the old woman’s mouth twisted into a wry smile, “They are all nice little boys and girls. You will get along well with them, Mr Jones.”  
Fuck get along well, Alfred sweared in his mind. Fuck nice little boys and girls. They are a bunch of little bastards, that’s what they are. But he shouldn’t be worrying about this right now. It’s Sunday afternoon, he should be planning a walk in the garden after dinner. But the walk seemed awfully far away, as dinner is still a distant image.  
Alfred sighed again, this time sitting up from the bed. Time to get some vegetables and meat. And whiskey, of course. He walked to the door, and was about to open it for the first time in the day. Just then, a few knocks on the door stopped him.  
Fuck. No walking today. Nasty neighbour gossiping for two hours and then dinner. And then it would be time to go to bed, followed by a god damned Monday.  
Alfred opened the door. But it wasn’t a nasty neighbour outside: it was a nasty student, Arthur Kirkland.

 

A week ago, Alfred started his teaching life. As soon as he walked into the classroom, he realised that nasty old woman was lying. The classroom was like a funfair, or as Alfred assumed; he had never been to a funfair anyway. Boys were fighting; girls screaming; nobody noticed him coming into the room. Alfred felt a rush of tiredness. He coughed despite knowing it wouldn’t work, and surprisingly caught the attention of a few girls in the front row.  
“Hi,” Alfred didn’t bother raising his voice, but all the students stopped to listen for some unknown reasons. “I’m your new maths teacher, Alfr......”  
“What happened to the last one?” A boy asked with a strange accent.  
“She’s pregnant, she won’t be back.”  
“Did you fuck her?”  
The whole classroom burst into laughter. Alfred felt himself holding back really hard, but it was the first day.  
“Shut up, will you?” Alfred took a piece of chalk and turned around to face the blackboard. “You guys should be studying algebra right now.”  
“I didn’t bring my book, Mr...... You haven’t introduced yourself, have you?” Somebody asked with a even weirder accent. Alfred turned around to see a boy sitting on his desk, with a magazine in his hand.  
“Alfred, Alfred Jones. Who are you? Where did you get that accent?”  
“Arthur Kirkland, British.”  
“Very well, Mr Kirkland, you don’t need a book. Just use your brain, if you have one.” Alfred had lost his patience already, and decided to keep talking about algebra whatever happens.  
It worked very well. Nobody asked any questions; probably they weren’t listening. Alfred felt like being in East London, but it was convenient for him. He didn’t care about grades or GPA; why should he worry when these kids don’t worry? The lesson went surprisingly well, and Alfred felt that he had adapted to this job, and even fell in love with it. He loved maths, but for some reasons, he didn’t get a chance to study maths in university. For the same weird reasons, he went to an ordinary university to study philosophy, and dropped his studies after year one. He never got a clue what the professor was talking about, and it didn’t interest him. That was it; the happy part of life was over. He became a dull man with a horrible tie, but what else could be done?  
It was nice talking to these kids. It was okay to say anything, since nobody was listening, and nobody would reply. It was perfect, he said to himself. He finished unit one in thirty minutes.  
“That’s it. If there are no questions, you can do what you like now. I guess there aren’t.”  
As he suggested, nobody was paying attention. Alfred dragged a spare chair to sit on, and took out a book to read.  
“Mr Jones?”  
Alfred looked up. It was Arthur again.  
“What?” he asked impatiently. “I can’t get you a book, you know. Go and ask the principal.”  
“I don’t need one, do I?” Arthur replied with a sarcastic tone.  
“Alright.” Alfred dropped his book. “What do you want then, kid?”  
“I have a question.”  
“Oh, that wasn’t expected.” Alfred pointed at the blackboard casually, “Which part do you not understand?”  
“This.” Arthur pointed at the function y=㎡.  
“And what about it that you don’t understand?”  
“The range.”  
“It should be easy to understand. Greater than or equal to zero, less than infinity. Haven’t you studied algebra before?” Alfred couldn’t care about his attitude anymore. Arthur looked like he didn’t know any maths at all.  
“But why can’t it be equal to infinity?”  
Yes! How could he have forgotten to explain that? “Because infinity is just a concept.”  
“That’s better. I thought you didn’t want us to understand what you were talking about.” Arthur walked back to his seat and took up his magazine again. Alfred felt that he should encourage this student somehow, probably because he was the only one who listened to Alfred.  
“That was a good question,” he said. His voice was dry, he hasn’t praised anyone, not to mention kids, for a long time. He just hoped Arthur would get the point.  
Arthur seemed surprised for a few seconds. Then he nodded, and his attention went back to his magazine again. He should be doing some homework, thought Alfred, but then remembered he didn’t have a book.  
“You don’t have a book, do you, Arthur?”  
“How many times do I have to tell you I don’t?”  
“I’ll get you one, but it may take some time.”  
“Didn’t you say we don’t need one?”  
“Not in class, but you need to do some homework.” Alfred looked around. Nobody was doing homework. Alfred felt a headache immediately: he could already hear Arthur say “Do you think those who have books would do any homework?”  
“Alright. Thank you.”  
Alfred was appalled. He studied this kid for the first time, only to find out that he had been dragged into that shit magazine again. Alfred sighed and left the classroom. A nice weekend awaits.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing happens, that's what happens here...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather boring chapter explaining how Arthur developed a crush on his teacher.

Arthur was a good student (at least the best in his class. What else can you ask for?), but whoever spoiled Alfred’s weekend should be damned.  
I’ll strangle the kid if he dares ask me for a textbook, Alfred thought to himself. But Arthur seemed as surprised as Alfred.  
“I didn’t know it was you, sir.” Arthur said, his fingers tangled nervously. “I came to tell you Mrs Wilson wanted you to help with her weed in the garden ‘cause she wasn’t feeling well.”  
Nasty old woman. Alfred sighed impatiently. “But why did she send you to tell me?”  
“Um, I was just passing by, to get myself some... Nevermind what I was doing here, Mr Jones. Mrs Wilson wants you in the garden.”  
“Very well. Tell her I’ll be outside in five minutes.” Alfred stretched himself reluctantly, a bit angry at Arthur’s rudeness, but that couldn’t bother him a lot. Kids are like that, and Alfred couldn’t care less about those stupid trolls. He shut the door in Arthur’s face. Nevermind what he’ll think of it.  
Alfred grabbed a shirt and put it on over his head. Such a clean shirt, soon to be soaked in sweat, Alfred couldn’t help but felt a bit sorry for it, although it wasn’t a nice shirt. The only reason he kept it was because it was a gift from his ex-girlfriend, but that seemed years ago. Actually about five months ago, but having nearly no one to talk to in three weeks made days seem longer. God, he missed her-- he misses her. He almost sank into his own emotions until he heard a knock on the door.  
“That was five minutes, Mr Jones! Mrs Wilmer wants you in the garden NOW!”  
Fuck you, Arthur.  
Alfred slammed the door open to see Arthur shocked and scared.  
“I’m sorry, Mr Jones.” He lowered his head, which made Alfred feel a bit guilty. You should practise on holding back Al, he told himself, and sighed.  
“That’s fine, Arthur. You can go to do what you were intending to do now. I’ll be in Mrs Wilson’s garden within a moment.” He closed the door, this time gently, not wanting to scare Arthur again. Poor kid, he cares more than he seemed to, while Alfred cared far less than he seemed to.  
“Are you done there Mr Jones? You said five minutes and now it’s almost ten minutes! Don’t be like a French!” Mrs Wilson shouted in her garden.  
“I’m coming, Mrs Wilson, and it’s only six minutes.”  
“That’s how you rough numbers-- six makes ten, surly you know that, you are a maths teacher for heaven’s sake!”  
May Lord take good care of me, Alfred thought. When he opened the garden gate, he looked back in search of that blond student, but there was already no sign of him.  
“I wonder what he’s doing here,” he said.  
“Oh, don’t you start about that little bastard!” said Mrs Wilson.  
“What happened?” Alfred was surprised. Arthur didn’t look like the bastard kind. Honestly, he himself would be more of a bastard than anyone he’s ever known, but he probably hasn’t really known anyone.  
“That kid followed me home. Twice!”  
“I beg your pardon?” Alfred frowned, “When was the last time?”  
“Friday afternoon. When school was over he followed me home. I was shopping there!”  
“Friday after school?” That’s after his maths class. If Arthur followed this Mrs Wilson home, he certainly has followed Alfred home, too, yet Alfred has never seen Arthur around till just now.  
“Yes! Right when you were back home, Mr Jones. You should really teach that kid a lesson.” Mrs Wilson waved her left arm firmly, which reminded Alfred of the raging workers in Russia, only without a hammer in her hand.  
“I’ll see what I can do tomorrow, Mrs Wilson, but you should understand that as a maths teacher I don’t have the right to go into students’ private lives, and I’m not responsible for anything they do outside school, or more precisely, outside maths class.”  
“Oh, for God’s sake, just talk to him, Mr Jones! It’s not going to kill you!” Mrs Wilson cried.  
It is. Alfred thought. But he nodded anyway. “If that is what you please, Mrs.”

***

Arthur felt his heart pounding in his chest. It certainly wasn’t an incident that he appeared in front of Alfred’s door. He followed Alfred home on Friday-- and it didn’t end well. An old woman-- well, it turned out she was Mrs Wilson-- thought he wanted to get his hands on her. How awful to have a neighbour like that, he thought, poor Mr Jones! He laughed, imagining Alfred being suspected by her. He would be frowning, and all sarcastic. Arthur found himself attracted to that image shamefully. A sarcastic Alfred-- for some odd reason, he thought that would be cute. And for the same reason perhaps, he wanted to know where he lived.  
He’s done a lot of that kind of silly stuff before. Knocking on teachers’ doors then go away, leaving them wondering who on earth did such silly thing. Following a new teacher should be the easiest thing to do, but Arthur had made a deadly mistake: he talked to Alfred, and Alfred knew him. There were a few times he thought Alfred would turn back, so he hid behind street corners with great fear, and that was probably what made Mrs Wilson think he had dirty ideas.  
Arthur never cared about what teachers might have thought of him, but strangely he wanted to give Alfred a good impression. His English teacher said (and he was a jolly old fool) that first impressions are really important. He wondered if he had given Alfred a good impression. Probably not, ‘cause he seemed all impatient, but maybe that’s what he is. He’s just the kind of people who are never friendly to anyone. Arthur liked that.  
Oh, God. Arthur felt his heart go whibly-whoobly again, and he blushed. He always loved a challenge, especially with cold people. The more they hate him, the more he likes them. He wanted to beat their egos, to hurt them and see them in pain. Oh, what pleasure. But that wasn’t the only thing he liked about Alfred. This young American also had a perfect figure-- those tight muscles made Arthur jealous so much. He could never have muscles. He was skinny, a bit too skinny that no girls fancied him. They all wanted a bit of muscles. Alfred was a gentleman, too. Being a world-weary guy (at least he seemed to be), he really tried hard to pretend to be nice.  
“May he curse me,” Arthur started to laugh at himself, “Please don’t let me fall in love with another git!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What seemed an unpleasant day turned out to be not so unpleasant after all. A bit like a crackfic to be honest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! I've just read a USUK romance in AP chemistry class, and I thought to myself, why not writting about the Holy IBDP? So I'm going to declare that this fic is going to be about IBDP, hooray! Because nobody's done it before and it's such a pain in the arse that I really want someone else to suffer along with me. It's not going to do anything to the story really-- it's just that I'm familiar with this system.

Chapter Three

Monday morning.

Alfred sighed. His usually peaceful Sunday evening was sacrificed to Mrs Wilson in her ugly garden, and he had wondered all evening who Arthur’s true victim was. For some odd reason, he highly suspected that Arthur was following him instead of Mrs Wilson. In that case, asking Arthur why he was following Mrs Wilson home--  even if he really did follow __her__ home-- it would make the boy embarrassed. So he decided to let it go in spite of Mrs Wilson’s orders-- Oh, who would ever care about that crazy old thing. One part of Alfred suspected that he would be just like Mrs Wilson when he gets old, and that thought was more than a little bit disturbing. But nevermind, old boy, Alfred said to himself, you might not even get that old before you die.

Alfred took one last sip of wine from the glass-- not many people drink wine in the morning, he thought-- and got changed. As he locked the door, he suddenly realised that he had forgotten to get Arthur an extra textbook. Alfred groaned, banging his head on the door.

It’s going to be a long day.

Alfred wondered why he had to be there so early in the morning, since he only had one class in the afternoon. However, it gave him more than sufficient time to copy his whole textbook with the school printer. It had about a thousand pages-- literally-- which drove him crazy. Not that he thought it was too much hassle printing the book, but the way Andrew or Andy (whatever that guy in charge is called) stared at him really got on his nerves. He really had to be a bit of a hero to get the whole book printed under that kind of glare, but it was done, and Alfred smiled secretly to himself.

The rest of the morning was spent reading Don Quijote-- not because of his particular interest in it, but because it happened to be left on the bench outside the classroom, probably by some student. Alfred had read it a long time ago, probably when he was those kids’ age, but all he could remember now was the adorable knight’s fight with the windmills.

And the last chapter, in which Don Quixote fell sick and made will and died. “The house was all in confusion; but still the niece ate and the housekeeper drank and Sancho Panza enjoyed himself; for inheriting property wipes out or softens down in the heir the feeling of grief the dead man might be expected to leave behind him.” Alfred read with a soft voice and chuckled. What seemed sad to him when he was young had changed into something calm, lovely even. He suddenly realised why Don Quixote was a __beginning__ : this was life. It had never been so true in a novel, and that was why people fell in love with the underlying humanity behind all the craziness.

“You certainly are an idler, are you not?”

Alfred wasn’t surprised to find a grumpy kid staring at him: Arthur Kirkland. Alfred secretly prayed to God not to let this Mr Kirkland become a pain in the neck, again, and put on a polite smile.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Alfred was going to put the book aside, but Arthur grabbed it before he could.

“You were reading __my__  book.” Arthur sounded quite pissed off. Alfred only scoffed.

“You left it on the bench, kid.”

“But that doesn’t mean you were allowed to touch it, old man!”

Alfred felt himself taking a deep breath. “Mind you, a) I’m not an old man, b) you ought to be a bit more polite than that to your teachers.”

“Oh, hang.” Arthur touched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, sorry sir.” He went off with a sarcastic laugh, but Alfred stopped him.

“Hey kid, where do you think you are going? Sneaking out of your class again?”

“Again?” Arthur frowned, “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Alfred tried to search for a good reason, but really, how did he get that out of his mouth? But Arthur thought of a better reason for him.

“You used to sneak out of your classes a lot when you were a kid, didn’t you?” He smiled a wicked smile, and sat down beside Alfred. “That’s why you’re such a pain in the arse around your own students-- And mind you, I didn’t even pick on you when you called me a kid, which I’m not.”

Alfred laughed dryly. “How old do you think you are?”

“Sixteen-- almost seventeen.” Arthur replied proudly, and gained himself a few more laughs from Alfred.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur frowned again, but Alfred didn’t answer his question.

“Where were you heading?” he asked.

“For lunch.” Arthur said.

“Is it already noon?” Alfred was a bit surprised. God bless him, he was still on chapter two.

“Yes, old man--” Arthur covered his mouth in horror, but it was too late. He earned a glare from Alfred, but nothing more. That seemed to calm him down a bit. What was this boy expecting? Alfred thought, amused.

“Do you mind if I go with you?” Alfred immediately realised how inappropriate it was, when he saw Arthur’s eyes widen. But he soon calmed down and added, “I’m new here, you see. Usually I bring my lunch with me, but today is... a little bit different.”

Arthur stared at him for so long that it gave him chills, but finally it was over. “You see, I’m not sure if I’m the right person to show you where to eat, ‘cause I bring my lunch to the dorms and eat alone. You probably have to try your luck on the others.”

Both of them had a look into the classroom, but no one was left. All the kids had gone for lunch once the bell rang.

“Seems there isn’t one for me try my luck on.” Alfred shrugged.

“Alright.” Arthur sighed, “You can have a sandwich made by my mum in my dorm, if you don’t mind.”

“Can’t wait to appreciate her cooking.” Strangely, Alfred suddenly felt really hungry. He decided that he was just too drawn into the book earlier that he didn’t even notice the protest of his stomach.

Arthur had a room to his own, which wasn’t really surprising since there weren’t so many students. His bed was tidy and unused, probably because he goes home every day. The room was kept for a nap at lunch break, but it seemed that Arthur had never put it to that use. There were a few Stanley Kubrick posters on the wall, which reminded him of the book he left on the bench.

“Didn’t expect you’d read Cervantes,” he commented.

“Why? Do I look like... I’m uneducated?” Arthur laughed.

To his surprise, Alfred admitted. “A bit,” he said, ignoring Arthur’s widened eyes, “’Cause you don’t pay attention in class and all.”  _ _And you followed a new teacher home.__

Arthur snorted. “Probably not as educated as you are, but yes, I do read, occasionally.”

Alfred laughed, this time light-heartedly. “No offense. Now, do you mind letting me try Mrs Kirkland’s sandwich?”

“Alright, just you wait.” Arthur reached into his bag and handed Alfred a tuna sandwich.

“I like tuna.” Alfred took a bite. It tasted a bit weird, but maybe that was Mrs kirkland’s special way of cooking.

“Do you mind if I put some music on?” Arthur asked. He looked away when  Alfred gave him a surprised look. “I usually have the music on when I eat,” he explained.

“Alright.” Alfred nodded, “but I get to choose. What do you have?”

Arthur suddenly became quite nervous. Oh, those kids-- who couldn’t stand people making bad comments on their taste of music. Alfred knew how that felt. He used to be a bit specific about movies when he was young, well, maybe still a bit specific about them now.

“The Beatles can’t be wrong, can they?” Arthur asked.

“Good, but show me what else you’ve got.” Alfred narrowed his eyes.

“Wow, you’re challenging me.” Arthur grinned, “Whatsoever. The Rolling Stones-- not very surprising but I have them, and that’s not surprising either, huh?”

“No, not at all.” Alfred smiled, “Show me more.”

“Not surprising that I got Bob Dylan, now is it?”

“No.”  
Noticing that Alfred was still staring at him, Arthur dug into his little box of CDs again.

“I’ve got The Who-- not so much of a surprise either, I guess.”

“Arthur, you seem to be stuck in the 60s.” Alfred observed.

Arthur gasped, and gritted his teeth. “Now, now, old man-- that’s the harshest comment I’ve ever heard!” He tossed the box aside in a childish way and went straight to the tape drive, “No pop music for you now-- Listen to some Beethoven, if you consider me stuck in the 60s!”

“Great. That’s the ninth, isn’t it?” Alfred smiled at Arthur and locked gaze with him for a while, hoping that Arthur would get his not-so-funny joke. Arthur froze there for a while before he took a glance at the posters on the wall, and he laughed.

“I don’t consider myself a clockwork orange or whatever it is, you silly old man!”

And they both laughed, then remained silent to appreciate the good old Beethoven. It was all great, except for the food, Alfred thought to himself. Not so long a day after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't be updating soon... well, if you know what first year of IBDP is like...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gets pissed off by Arthur. (Yes, now you don't have to read it to find out what it's about because I've told you here.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Mid-Term exams! Economics sucks. Maths was okay though-- surprisingly, since our maths teacher was only a bit less horrible than Alfred.

Chapter Four

It’s getting hard to be someone, Alfred thought as he entered the classroom. Life is hard, even when you’re just a care-free(well, not completely) maths teacher without a proper degree or license. He took a quick look around the classroom, and immediately felt a headache threatening to overwhelm him: kids were talking, laughing-- horrible kids! And what exactly were they laughing about? Maths classes were supposed to be sad and miserable.

“Guys!” Alfred raised his voice. A few kids turned to look at him, but the rest of them didn’t even show the slightest awareness of his presence.

Alfred cleared his throat. Meanwhile, an evil idea crossed his mind.

“Listen up,” he said, “There’s going to be a quiz this Friday, which will count towards your final grades.” He looked around, and for the first time since he moved here he felt like smiling. The kids became quiet in a minute, and started to whisper with fear. What a good thing to announce, Alfred thought, I should let them take a quiz every week-- but then he’d have to make a quiz every week, and that would be more annoying than a bunch of horrible kids.

“Have you guys never had a quiz before?” He tried his best to fight back the urge to smile a wicked smile, “Don’t worry, you have a lot of chances, so it doesn’t matter that much if you screw this one up. Oh, by the way, when I was teaching in another school, my students used to take a quiz every two weeks,and I suggest you guys get used to that, too.”

That caused some horror, but soon the kids calmed down, or at least they appeared to have calmed down. Now Alfred was starting to regret, as he had literally nothing to make a quiz. Nevermind, he told himself, just make something up, it’s not like these kids would be able to solve a single problem. In fact, Alfred even doubted whether they were able to read English.

But Arthur-- Arthur might be different. Alfred gave Arthur an unfriendly glare. This kid might complain about his quiz being too hard, because he would actually __read every question and try__. It’s okay though, Alfred thought, just tell him “I want to make it challenging”.

The class went on surprisingly well. Nobody was talking, and some of the kids were actually paying attention. Alfred was a bit surprised, as he thought these kids never cared about grades, or the GPA thing, as they call it. What does GPA stand for? He didn’t know; it doesn’t matter. People seemed to be obsessed with giving capitals to everything, especially when it comes to school.

Alfred would say the class ended in harmony, despite how ridiculous that might sound. He thought of talking to Arthur about following Mrs Wilson, but that would be embarrassing. When he saw Arthur walking towards him, he blinked. What was this kid thinking about? Alfred secretly hoped it was a maths question, but it would be foolish to hope so.

“Have you forgotten to get me a book?” Arthur gave him a doubtful look.

“Oh!” Alfred gasped. “I almost forgot--”

“You forgot!” Arthur seemed to be freaking out. Alfred was a bit curious why he would freak out for anything related to maths though.

“Almost forgot, which means I didn’t.” Alfred handed him the book. God knows how hard it was to print the book with that William(or Mike-- or Andrew-- or was it even a man?) staring at him like that. Alfred felt like he had been a hero for Arthur.

“Don’t tell me you used the school printer to print the book!” Arthur laughed.

“I did,” Alfred scratched his head, feeling a bit guilty.

“And you used up all the paper?” Arthur was amused.

Alfred nodded. Arthur let out a few more laughs, and Alfred just wondered with awe how he could be so innocent when he laughed.

“Didn’t Andrew freak out?” he asked, laughing too hard that he couldn’t stand straight.

So it was indeed a man. Alfred smiled at his good memory, and flicked through the pages.

“What’s there to be freaking out about?” he asked. And you freaked out for a maths textbook, he added silently.

“Papers aren’t cheap,” said Arthur, suddenly becoming sober, “Andrew isn’t that rich. We ought to understand him, eh?”

Alfred laughed. “You are a good boy, Arthur.” He rose to his feet, prepared to go home, but Arthur had other plans.

“Can I call you Alfred?” he asked.

Alfred was taken aback for a while. That was a weird question, but why not?

“Yes you can,” he replied, “any reason you ask?”

“Because you seem nice.” Arthur replied simply.

Alfred blushed a bit. “Well, thank you,” he said, a bit embarrassed, “I would say the same about you, too.”

Arthur laughed again, probably because of how awkward and embarrassed Alfred was. “And you seem to know a lot about music,” he added.

No, not a lot. But Alfred gave him a smile anyway. He felt horrible about what Arthur was going to say. He had a feeling that this kid was going to cross the line.

“That’s very important.” Arthur nodded to himself. “What were you like when you were our age? You weren’t so hardworking, were you?”

“I... I wasn’t.” Alfred was starting to feel a headache. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to be hardworking. You don’t want to be like me when you grow up, do you?”

“Actually that isn’t such a bad idea.” Arthur thought about it for a while. “I just sit in front of the classroom and teach the kids how to use a calculator. And probably get well paid and well laid.”

“Arthur!” Alfred just hoped this little demon wouldn’t see his blush. Seriously, how could he talk to a teacher like that?

“Oh, come on!” Arthur gave him a pat on the shoulder, “Have you--” His eyes suddenly widened, and he asked, “Are you married?”

“No.” And no more questions, you nasty child, unless they’re about maths.

“Do you have children?”

“Why did you ask me that question after I told you I wasn’t married?” Alfred felt an urge to beat this kid for good, but that might ruin his reputation. Not that he cared about it, but he had to stay employed here.

Arthur just shrugged. “Well, I know that a lot of Americans are single but they have kids, so I figured you might be one of them. And it’s okay, really--”

“I don’t have kids!” Alfred shouted.

“Oh,” Arthur was scared for a while, “I’m sorry.”

Wait, was that the second time he scared Arthur? Last time the kid was so scared when Alfred slammed the door in his face. You really need to practice holding back, Al, Alfred could almost hear his mother’s complaint.

“That’s fine.” Alfred coughed, “I’d understand if you’re curious about Americans. If you’ve got any questions, you can ask me.” He wanted to be friendly with Arthur, but he was going to regret it in a minute.

“Great!” Arthur gasped with excitement, “So I heard that high school students in America would kiss in front of teachers, is it true? Did you have a girlfriend in high school? Oh, do you have a girlfriend now?”

“Arthur!” Alfred had to stop him, “Your questions are not about America, except for the first one. They involve my personal life and I have the right to choose not to tell you. If your parents haven’t told you, then fine, now you know it’s rude to ask questions like that.”

“Oh, that’s so boring.” Arthur sighed, “I actually wanted to tell you about the single girls around here...”

“Arthur--”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop!” Arthur glared, “I bet you never had a girlfriend.”

And that hurt.

Arthur certainly had noticed the sudden silence, and he turned to look at Alfred, only to find him absorbed in his own thoughts.

“Oh dear,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

It took a while before Alfred was back to reality.

“You should go home now.” he said.

Arthur nodded and left. Alfred sat there in silence for a few minutes, and left for home as well.

* * *

 

Ever since that awkward conversation, Alfred had been avoiding Arthur on purpose. Arthur was very nervous around him, and he tried so hard to make up for what he did, but Alfred just ignored him. The attention Arthur gave him was unhealthy. Arthur wasn’t particularly interested in maths (yes, Alfred would say that confidently), yet he cared so much about maths classes that he never read magazines again. This kid might had a crush on him, and Alfred figured he had to stop that.

It was lovely Sunday afternoon again, except that it wasn’t so lovely, because Alfred had to mark all the quizzes. But soon enough, what seemed to be undesired labour turned out to be quite enjoyable. Alfred smiled as he threw another blank quiz onto the top of other blank quizzes.

Boom! Another one bites the dust!

Giving zeros was so cool. Alfred laughed at every name on the quizzes until he saw some writing on one of the quizzes.

It couldn’t be-- Arthur wouldn’t be able to solve any of the problems(yes, Alfred could say that confidently), but there was some writing there, showing that he tried. And he tried hard, Alfred figured after reading through.

Suddenly, Alfred felt tears in his eyes. It wasn’t a very good moment to be emotional, but that-- that did remind him of his younger days, trying so hard to impress her. It never worked, though; that bird has flown.

He ended up giving Arthur a 0.5 instead of zero. Not that it would make any difference though, but he was trying to be kind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a nice week! : )


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred chats to a colleague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's been months since I last updated. Now I'm back for some time before I go to university- hopefully.

After twenty minutes of meaningless trigonometry education, _the moment_ had finally come: Alfred was about to hand out the quizzes.

“You guys did well, if you’ve never seen this before,” Alfred pointed at the blank papers and put on a polite smile, “But I can tell that you need a lot more practice.”

Instead of asking a student to hand out the quizzes, Alfred helped himself to a chair in front of the classroom and called every student to get the quiz from him. That was one of the few things he learnt from his own high school: how to give the kids maximum torture. The first few students went very pale after they got their quizzes, but soon smiles started to appear on their faces after they checked each other’s scores. Damn it, Alfred thought, I shouldn’t have made it _this_ impossible.

“Arthur,” he finally got to that one.

Arthur looked a bit scared when he came to get his quiz. Poor kid, he really tried to impress me, Alfred thought. Alfred wasn’t sure whether he would be disappointed or surprised, or both. The 0.5 was meant to be a surprise though- a surprise to encourage him, Alfred sweared.

To his surprise, Arthur seemed to really get it. His eyes lit up when he saw the 0.5 for the first problem. Alfred had actually wrote “nice try” beside the big red cross on his answer. It was definitely Christmas.

“Arthur, what did you get? ” A few curious kids peaked at his quiz and gasped.

“Arthur’s got 0.5!” Somebody shouted.

“Oh my God Arthur, how did you do it?”

“Can I have a look at question 1?”

“That mean old bastard’s given you _some_ mark? But you only tried question one! I tried question 7, the hardest one, and got no mark!”

Alfred coughed. “Simon, writing song lyrics on your paper doesn’t necessarily show me you tried.”

Arthur was surrounded by his new fans. They looked at him with such admiration as if he was some kind of maths genius. He wasn’t, Alfred could tell, he was somehow clever but he didn’t really like maths. He worked so hard on it just because he pissed Alfred off. Thinking of that, Alfred felt a bit guilty as the poor student might think Alfred was still upset. Maybe he could just go over to Arthur and tell him he’s not upset anymore. But then what? Maybe he will suddenly lose all his interest in maths. (Does he have any to lose even?)

That would be sad, Alfred thought to himself. Maybe he could just pretend to be upset until Arthur himself finds the beauty of mathematics, he thought wishfully. Of course, he knew that it would never happen, but that couldn’t stop Alfred from thinking. “We’re all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars,” this he approved of.

Alfred felt disappointed as the kids soon forgot the pain of the quiz when they found out no one did well. He figured that he should give Arthur some encouragement. Arthur was sitting on his desk- how proud. It was only 0.5 and he began to refuse sitting properly.

“Arthur,” he said.

“Yes?” Arthur replied carelessly.

“Did you have a good rest before the class?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yes,” was what Arthur said.

“I did too,” Alfred said. Arthur’s sudden indifference surprised him.

“Okay.” Arthur looked at him, a bit confused.

“That was a fun chat,” Alfred murmured to himself, but Arthur somehow heard it.

“It will be more fun if you didn’t take my chair,” Arthur replied.

The whole class burst into laughter, and Alfred lost his words.

“You win,” he sighed, finally letting go of Arthur’s chair.

“I heard that you’re from America,” an interesting looking man stopped Alfred in the corridor when he was trying to get some water. Actually, the adjective Alfred used to describe him mainly came from his beard.

“Yes, Alfred Jones.” Alfred tried not to frown, “you are?”

“James Clark, economics teacher,” that funny guy introduced himself. His name rang a bell- James Clark? But Alfred didn’t know anyone called James Clark. Oh well, maybe it was just James Clerk Maxwell getting in the way.

“How do you do,” Alfred nodded. It was certainly not a good idea to be impolite with his colleagues, especially when they are all weird creatures who might put your toothbrush in your toilet.

“I’m glad there’s a new maths teacher now,” James remarked, “You can’t imagine what they are like in economics class.”

That got Alfred interested. “What? Was it- worse than maths class? Is that even possible?”

James only stroked his ridiculous beard. “I think you’ve already encountered a tough student under the ridiculous name of Arthur Kirkland, haven’t you?”

“Under the ridiculous name of”, what a posh alert, Alfred thought. Besides, Kirkland seemed to be a common surname, and Arthur definitely a common name.

“I have,” he replied, “He doesn’t seem to be a good maths student.”

“I can envisage that,” James nodded, “Did he get you into trouble? Knocking you over in the corridor? Calling you a despicable toad?”

Alfred really held himself back to not laugh at the “despicable toad”. Arthur was definitely a genius when it comes to giving teachers nicknames. “He hasn’t done any of that,” Alfred said, honestly, “So far he seems okay with maths. How about economics?”

“It’s not his favourite subject,” James said, and smiled that teacher’s smile. To be honest, Alfred hated that smile. It was how his philosophy professor smiled at him when he got his essay back, and found out that he got 6 out of 25. How did he himself become a teacher? C’est la vie, say the old folk, you never can tell.

“He behaves well in my class,” Alfred smiled politely, “but thanks for telling me. He’s a tough kid, I can tell.”

James suddenly lowered his voice and blinked at Alfred. “Mind you, it’s hormones,” he said, “Young students- and you’re from America.”

Alfred frowned, confused. “How does that help?”

“They’d say you’re sexy,” James laughed, “while I’m just a sexist.”

Alfred blushed. “You’re a… what?”

“A sexist,” James admitted, “It’s normal considering my age- I haven’t been sexy for about twenty years, you know.”

Alfred coughed. “That was a fun chat.” He walked away, not forgetting to smile back at James.

He sat at his desk and thought about James’ words. Did Arthur behave well in maths class just because he was… sexy? Alfred couldn’t help but blushed again. Arthur was a cute, innocent creature to be sure.

“Come on, Alfred, it was James,” he said to himself, “Of course maths is a lot more important than economics.”

That has to be the reason- not some hormone thing. It has to be.


End file.
